


Perigee

by Soulsteel



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: A Tiny Touch of Voyeurism, Extended Metaphors, Frottage, M/M, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Party Ambulance Ratchet, Polyamory, Scissoring, Semi-Public Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mention of sex work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulsteel/pseuds/Soulsteel
Summary: Perigee, n.:  The point in the orbit of the moon or a satellite at which it is nearest to the earth.In which Orion Pax and Megatronus discover each other's gravity wells.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatronus/Orion Pax, Ratchet/Soundwave, a little Megatronus/Soundwave
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	Perigee

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive my weakness for Party Ambulance Ratchet.

Megatronus exvented massively, vents pluming steam from a combination of rotgut engex and the thick, creeping sulfur-smog that marked Kaon’s nights. The foul miasma seeped even into habsuites, leaving a sour, acidic tang on the glossa on waking and trickling paths etched in paint. Soundwave’s tiny hab was not an exception. But he was overcharged, and the company was good, and a little smog was no comparison to the choking, lethal darkness of the mines.

Beside him, Orion snuggled closer, delicate data-jack-tipped digits teasing the edges of his vents. Bold. Far bolder than usual. Then again, Megatronus had not been the only one to partake in more than his fair share of engex tonight. He looked down at the slightly-built mech, one hand dropping from the back of the sofa to caress Orion’s audial…

...only to be interrupted by a moan of pure pleasure from the berthroom. The door was shut, but the walls were thin, and whatever Ratchet and Soundwave were up to they were definitely going to hear it. 

Four crazy mechs planning a revolution, and this is what they fell to.

Another moan penetrated the wall, followed by a clearly enunciated “Oh Soundwave, I needed this!” Megatronus couldn’t help but chuckle, transferring his servo from Orion’s audial to his aft easily, pulling the data clerk up against his chestplates even as he let out an undignified beep of alarm, his limbs uncoordinated with engex and nerves. 

“Orion, what disturbs you?” Megatronus cupped Orion’s soft, unscarred faceplates in his other hand. A flush of the cheek pressed to his servo, hot and bright, and then electric blue optics transfixed him, pinning him on the sofa as though there was a spear through his spark chamber. Always. Always those optics paralyzed him, like a mechdusa of old mining tales. Turned to stone, calcified by a simple data clerk’s regard.

It was foolish, but Megatronus forgot to vent anyway.

Orion’s crippling gaze mercifully dropped, his faceplates still bright with coursing energon. “We should give them more privacy.” A throaty laugh from behind the door, followed by a series of staccato clicks that Megatronus struggled to identify as Soundwave, punctuated his statement. Orion glanced at the berthroom door and squirmed.

“Soundwave has offered his quarters for the evening.” Megatronus ran a soothing servo down Orion’s spinal struts, finding the racket from the next room easier to ignore than the subtle, uncomfortable shifts of Orion’s pelvic framing. He’d heard Soundwave perform for louder bastards with worse technique. He’d done it himself as well - a gladiator’s body was so rarely their own. If his friend and sometimes lover wanted to be treated well by Ratchet, his friend, his co-conspirator, the notorious Party Ambulance, that was his business.

Noisy business, from the increasingly loud rhythmic clangs from the berthroom. Orion’s field flared briefly, embarrassment and a hint of something else tingling along Megatronus’ sensors. Those flushed faceplates and that field pled a case Megatronus found himself ill-inclined to argue.

“Perhaps the roof might be a better place for us.” Roof access to this habtower was restricted in theory, but in practice the lock to the access door was usually broken, jimmied too many times by bots seeking some time for a cygarette, a moment of privacy for a comm call, or a brief glimpse of the few stars that overcame the thick plumes of acrid soot from the factories. If it wasn’t...well, it would hardly be the first door Megatronus had slammed open with his shoulder.

The gladiator levered himself off the sofa, swaying only slightly. He offered his servo to Orion as he straightened; an alien, courtly gesture that seemed to fit him as ill as Functionist mandates. Orion latched onto him anyway, small sensor-rich servos clinging to his thickly plated digits. Megatronus made his way towards the hab door, a sudden sharp cry from the berthroom and Orion’s tightening grip urging him onwards. 

The door hissed open, then whispered closed behind them. Megatronus, even overcharged as he was, made sure it had locked. He would not let Soundwave be disturbed or harmed during one of his incredibly rare moments of vulnerability. Behind him, Orion fidgeted, clinging to his servo like his life depended on it.

A good feeling. Megatronus liked it more than he cared to admit.

“Come with me, my friend. We’ll watch the moonsrise.” His opposable digit stroked slowly across the back of Orion’s servo, tracing data inputs. He’d never be able to throw a punch without pain, much like Ratchet. But unlike Ratchet, Megatronus had never seen his gentle Orion feed anyone their fist in a fit of righteous rage.

He was somehow pristine, yet not. For when it came time to speak of revolution, of the Senate’s callousness, of castes and of suffering, Orion’s hypnotic eyes burned with equal fervor to his. “We must speak to them in person, we must show them the pain they’ve wrought, we must change their minds!” - Orion’s words, elegant filigree to his own fiery rhetoric. They throbbed in his spark as he climbed the cramped, dank stairwell of the habtower. 

Part of him screamed that Orion’s approach would never work, that the elite must be FORCED to see their own filth...but. But. What harm would Orion’s approach have, if tried first? Sweet mercury to make the medicine go down, and if the sparkling spat it up anyway there was plenty of time to administer it directly.

Sweet mercury. As his clumsy servo tested the broken latch to the roof access, he wondered how Orion’s glossa would taste.

The roof access door swung open before them, rolling clouds from the factory smokestacks half-shrouding Luna 1’s serene face. They’d missed the rise of the first moon, but Luna 2 lay low and heavy on the horizon, chasing her sister across the sky this season. Megatronus looked back, checking on Orion, and his vents caught. 

Orion Pax looked possessed, some being of quicksilver light in the moons’ diffuse glow, his red and blue paint washed out to gleaming silvers and blacks. The only thing that remained was his optics, bright and alive in a face made strange by the night.

Megatronus wanted him. The same way Soundwave wanted Ratchet right now, he wanted him. Wanted this brilliant and beautiful creature who had replaced his reserved data clerk atop him, gleaming in the moonslight, riding his spike, letting soft cries into the smog-choked night air.

He was the Champion of Kaon. He could have had almost any mech, almost any night.

He wanted this one, this night.

“Orion,” Megatronus choked out, and that slick-silver face folded into concern. 

“Megatronus, are you well?”

“Lie with me.”

The words breached his engex-stung lips before he could stop them. Orion froze in the moonslit dark, a statue traced in purest platinum. Megatronus could sense nothing of his tightly-drawn field.

After a moment that seemed to be swallowed into eternity, the data clerk whispered, “Are you sure?”

Like Megatronus had ever been unsure of this, even sober. He rumbled deep in his chest, engine coming to life within him. “I want to see you atop me, moon to my planet, shining in the dark, bound to me by forces beyond both our comprehension.”

One of his more poetic pickup lines, Megatronus had a engex-mazed moment to think before Orion tackled him, smaller engine revving at redline as he hooked delicate digits into Megatronus’ sharp-filed shoulder fairings and hauled himself up to capture his intake. Pointed dentae clashed with blunt ones, glossae entwining as Megatronus sank down, first to his knees, then slowly reclining back, pulling Orion atop him. 

Orion’s vents were already wide open, gulping the filthy air to try and cool himself. Megatronus ran thick, scarred digits along the entire length of Orion’s spinal struts before cupping his servos around his slender waist. The archivist’s legs straddled him and squeezed, startlingly strong for their fragile appearance. Orion’s normally tight grip on his field loosened, and Megatronus felt waves of _lust-need-want_ roll over him, sending his own field flaring in answer. He was waiting for a sudden demand for his spike, an urgent frag, everything over in a few glorious kliks. 

And then Orion began to grind, slow and smooth, heating codpiece against heavy plating, arching prettily under Megatronus’ servos as they kissed. 

In Kaon, a city of _hot-fast-filthy-NOW_ , Megatronus had rarely taken his time with anything. But in this time, in this place, in this little bubble that Orion had somehow carved out with his very presence, there were only languid movements and moonslight. It was torture, but oh, so sweet. 

His servo came up to cup the back of Orion’s helm, tender for a moment before pressing their intakes more firmly together, nibbling playfully at Orion’s glossa and lipplates. To his surprise, Orion moaned softly and nipped back, managing to catch Megatronus’ glossa for the briefest of instants. The archivist’s blunt dentae did little damage, but the briefest burst of pain through Megatronus’ wires was enough to make his spike go thick and hard in its housing, pressing eagerly against his codpiece. 

He broke this kiss, pulling Orion’s helm away, meaning to say something eloquent or at least complementary, but those paralyzing optics opened and he drowned in them again. “Oh, Orion…” was all he managed.

“Megatronus…” It was nearly a plea. The archivist rolled his hips against him again, and this time Megatronus felt the dripping wetness it left behind, oozing from the edges of closed, overheated panels.

“Open for me, my moon. I want to see you.” 

Orion leaned back, bracing his servos on Megatronus’ broad thighs. The gladiator’s spike pulsed eagerly again as Orion’s lubricant-slick panel caught the moonslight, shining wetness trailing down his thighs like the shimmer of a distant galaxy. Megatronus couldn’t have looked away if his very life depended on it. 

The panel folded away, neatly, tidily, almost soundlessly, no struggling of damaged or neglected gears. Orion’s valve glistened with lubricant, red and blue biolights pulsing, blue-white anterior node like a star in a silvery sky. His spike emerged a little more slowly; shining, unblemished protometal going tight with need, matching biolights pulsing in time with his valve. The whole array seemed almost untouched, though he knew full well that Orion was no youngling shyly asking for someone to take his seals. 

Pristine, yet not. 

Orion shifted on him, sliding himself back, wet valve deliberately trailing over Megatronus’ searing-hot codpiece and forcing a groan out of him. “I want to see you too.” Orion’s voice had taken on an almost baritone rumble, and his field brooked no argument. When Megatronus tore his optics from the archivist’s gorgeous array, he found himself the subject of intent study. Orion’s electric-blue optics gazed at him like a new-found relic, something unique and highly desired.

Megatronus had neither the will nor the inclination to say no.

His panels transformed away less smoothly and considerably less quietly than Orion’s, the audible click-hiss of them opening seeming loud even with the background roar of the factories and night traffic. Megatronus braced his servos on Orion’s hip fairings, pushing him back, giving his impatient spike somewhere to pressurize that wasn’t right into Orion’s unprepared valve. Some bots liked that - the pain, the pressure, the overstuffed feeling - but Megatronus wasn’t about to find out if Orion did the hard way. 

Instead he rocked his hips and spread his thighs a little wider, pushing the archivist down and pressing their valves together. Charge snapped from Orion’s swollen anterior node to the gladiator’s own, drawing revs from both their engines and sending his spike to full pressure in an instant. Orion shuddered, leaning back against Megatronus’ thighs and grinding against him with the same slow rhythm as before. Megatronus wrapped his large servo around both their spikes, pressing them together, relishing the feeling of Orion throbbing against him, the slide of him against his spike as he rolled his hips. 

Their spikes were much as they were, he supposed - Megatronus’ larger and thicker, Orion’s shaped well and loaded with extra sensors. Even the lightest brush of Megatronus’ digits across the head sent Orion’s fans screaming and his field bright with lust, and the languid pace of Megatronus’ strokes seemed to be nearly too much for him. Orion’s backstruts arched and Megatronus could feel lubricant trickling down his aft, his own and Orion’s commingled. 

He liked that thought, that feeling of them mixing, the wet-slick sounds of their valves pressing together and the bursts of pleasure that came when their nodes ground against each other. 

He liked this, spontaneous fragging under the glow of the moons with no pressure to perform or be a certain way. 

He liked Orion. 

Megatronus groaned and revved his massive miner’s engine hard, letting his chassis, his spike, his valve rumble with it, propping himself up on one elbow to watch Orion’s shining form buck and writhe. Orion choked on static, his digits digging hard into the transformation seams on Megatronus’ thigh, and Megatronus revved his engine higher and harder. He tightened his servo slightly around their spikes, squeezing just a little harder than before, wanting to hear a little more static…

Orion overloaded, his plating crackling with charge as he erupted in Megatronus’ servo. He garbled out something interference-laced that may have been Megatronus’ name as his chassis convulsed with pleasure, then slumped back between Megatronus’ spread thighs. The gladiator blinked, bemused, and brought his transfluid-covered servo up to his hand, licking it curiously.

It was strange, tasting transfluid that didn’t have the bitter aftertaste of fuel impurities or the too-sweet flavor of certain drugs currently popular among the elite. Strange, but distinctly Orion. The smaller mech had managed to push himself up to his elbows, looking thoroughly debauched, field lazily caressing his. Megatronus slowly, deliberately slid a digit into his intake, making sure Orion was watching as he sucked it clean.

Orion’s engine revved with interest and those hypnotic optics of his brightened. Megatronus couldn’t help but be pleased at the smaller mech’s stamina, even if it was likely fueled by engex. 

“I owe you an overload,” his archivist said, ever fair, ever practical. And as deeply as Megatronus craved him, he would not see this turned into a business transaction, a simple tit-for-tat. If he wanted that, Swindle would be impaled on his spike right now. The Kaonite loan shark would likely crying out interest rates and exchange ratios even as he was nearly split in half _and_ he would have opened a betting pool on the interface itself.

No, this was Orion, here under the sight of the moons and no other. “I care not. I wish to see you in pleasure.” His own near-feral growl caught him by surprise - that was his voice for the Pit, for hissing at reporters as they tittered about his potential death. Not for his allies. Not for his lovers.

And especially not for Orion. He choked back his engine and managed a far softer, “Please.”

Orion’s own engine roared a response to his tone, and for a moment Megatronus feared he’d walk away. His field had pulled back to nearly inside his armor as usual, rendering him a blank slate to Megatronus’ frantic sensors. The revolutionary caught Orion’s gaze deliberately this time, trying to read him as he rested betwixt his thighs.

Orion’s square jaw tensed, and his brilliant optics narrowed. His lower lipplates pushed out in something suspiciously close to a pout.

And then he was upon him, throwing his body up, using his firm leverage on Megatronus’ thighs to shove himself in a nearly 180 degree arc. Cold air rushed across the gladiator’s too-hot valve as it was parted from its mate, and he shuddered, the smallest moment of vulnerability.

Orion seized on it and exploited it, slamming into Megatronus’ chestplates and biting down hard on the cabling in his neck, dull dentae still giving enough pressure to send a burst of pain through his wires. Orion’s field enveloped him, _hunger-need-want_ ringing through it. It overtook him and drowned him in an ocean of lust he’d never suspected existed, let alone had such depths.

“Determined to eclipse me, my moon?” Megatronus rumbled out as he crushed the smaller bot to his chest possessively. Smaller servos dug into his chest transformation seams, eagerly caressing and prodding. Megatronus chuckled, rolling his hips up so his now-lonely spike bounced firmly off of that pert aft. “Can you take the weight that comes with that position?”

Orion lifted his helm from Megatronus’ neck, face serious despite its aroused flush and optics burning like newborn binary stars emerging from a nebula. “Always. Any time you want me to.”

It stalled Megatronus’ vents, filled him with some warm, liquid feeling he could scarcely identify. All he managed to say was, “Too kind, my exquisite satellite. Too kind.”

Orion pressed his lipplates against his jaw, voice a sultry whisper made hoarse by bad engex. “Nothing of the sort. I’ve found myself inexorably drawn into your orbit since the day we met - pulled closer by your gravity. I could no more resist you than fight my own frame.” His field penetrated Megatronus’, molten with need and honesty. Lubricant dribbled onto the gladiator’s plating from an eager valve. 

It was too much.

Megatronus slid his servos to his archivist’s hips, lifting and pushing him toward his spike even as he mourned the loss of Orion’s lipplates strafing down his jawline. Their size difference was too great to have both - a genuine pity. Orion settled for scattering kisses across Megatronus’ chest plating, lingering over his spark chamber even as he spread himself wide for the gladiator’s throbbing spike.

Megatronus tilted his hips forward, taking a servo off Orion’s alluring aft to line his spike up with that sopping wet valve. Questions crowded his processor - would he fit? Would it injure the smaller bot? Overloads tended to loosen mechs up, but was Orion truly ready?

And then Orion’s servo joined his and his hips shifted back, plump valve eagerly swallowing the head of his spike. Orion moaned and pressed down, enveloping Megatronus in hot tightness as half of his spike somehow disappeared into the little archivist. He could feel Orion’s slick running down the bulging sides of his swollen spike, and he wanted to simply thrust up, hilt himself, take his pleasure. With most other bots, he would have.

But Orion was not most bots.

Megatronus’ beautiful moon reared up and arched his spinal struts, silvery light catching his plating as he writhed and ground slowly downwards. Megatronus watched as he disappeared into that stretched, silvery opening in waves, stroking Orion’s thighs almost absently. Orion’s anterior node glowed so brightly in the darkness between their frames it cast faint shadows. Calipers pulsed around Megatronus’ spike, starting to milk him even though he wasn’t all the way in yet, and little cries burst forth from Orion’s vocalizer as he sank down.

“My celestial body, my lovely light...” The words came out static-laced as Orion’s pelvic plating met his, the shivering squeezes of the smaller mech’s valve around the base of his spike as relentless and irresistible as a black hole. An especially thick plume of acrid smoke belched from a factory in the distance, obscuring Luna 1’s bright light and leaving them in the dim glow of Luna 2. The smaller moon had swelled above the horizon but still fought to free itself of Kaon’s thick, yellowish smog, its light gone wavering and strange. And still Orion glowed above him, plating shimmering with charge and dazzling optics half-shuttered. His biolights and anterior node flared brilliantly as Megatronus thrust up into him for the first time, sending cool light splashing across Megatronus’ unpolished frame. He needed no reflected light, it seemed - he made his own.

Didn’t that make him a star instead of a satellite?

Was Megatronus in orbit around him instead?

Luna 1 emerged from its shroud and bathed Orion in quicksilver light. The idea flashed out of his working memory as quickly as it had come, dumped in favor of gripping Orion’s hip fairings tight. Strong servos encouraged the data clerk into a faster, harder rhythm, rising as Megatronus pulled back, falling as he thrust up. A perfect dance with a perfect partner, Orion’s valve gripping his spike like it had been made specifically for it. 

Orion wrapped one servo around his own spike, stroking it with aluminum-light touches, and gripped Megatronus’ thigh firmly with the other. He was tilted back, giving Megatronus a flawless view of his beautiful array, of the way lubricant gushed out of him with every upthrust. Perhaps some of Megatronus’ gladiatorial showmanship was rubbing off. Perhaps he simply liked being watched. Either way, the stretch and suck of that valve, the obscenely wet noises, the stinging tingle of a usually calm field whipped into a frenzy by pleasure - they were all flogging Megatronus onward to his overload.

He would not go alone.

Megatronus’ opposable digit slid slightly downwards, altering its firm grip. The sharp tip of it dug into a seam just over Orion’s hip joint, and the archivist gasped and shuddered. The way his calipers clenched made Megatronus taste electricity, but he fought the overload back with steely will. Where was that cable cluster Ratchet had shown him?

There. It tingled slightly, enough current coursing through the narrow bundle to give it its own tiny field.

He hooked the tip of his claw into deceptively small bundle of cables and sensors and _pulled_.

Orion screamed, vocalizer shorting out midway through with a garbled whistle. His chassis curled in on itself, transfluid spattering Megatronus’ abdominal plating all the way to his spark chamber as Orion’s spike swelled and erupted. The smaller mech’s valve clenched around his thick spike in an iron grip, squeezing to the point of pain, calipers bruising sensitive protometal.

The pain forced Megatronus over the edge. He shouted as white-hot charge exploded from his spark, filling him with his own light as his spike pumped deep into Orion’s bruisingly tight valve and exploded. His thick transfluid pumped into the smaller mech’s willing body as Orion’s overload finished, spilling out in messy spurts as that lovely valve relaxed. The gladiator managed a few brutal thrusts up, forcing more transfluid out, then went limp, most of his processor resetting and fans roaring to dispel excess heat. 

Orion wilted on top of him, intake open as he struggled to cool his more compact frame. Their blended ventilations made the air waver, the moons shimmering like bad holos against dark, murky clouds. The acid-pitted plastcrete under them as mercifully cool, and for a time they simply lay together, optics dimmed as the few stars brave enough to break Kaon’s smog wheeled across the sky.

When Megatronus finally had the wherewithal to move leaden limbs, it was only to stroke the perfect curve of Orion’s spinal struts, coaxing soft, even ventilations and gentle nuzzles from the archivist. Words took longer. A galaxy of feelings and complications had spiraled open before them, and within its vast bounds they had no idea where to start the first stumbling steps of their journey.

It was Orion who finally broke the silence. “We should get cleaned up.” His sensitive servos trailed across Megatronus’ thick chest armor, then braced to push himself up. Megatronus simply growled, folding his arms around Orion’s chassis - a definitive no.

“My moon, oh my moon...stay with me. Even if only for a small time.”

Orion slipped back into his close orbit, lipplates curving in a slow smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Left to my own devices with a relationship problem, "(So-and-so) has two hands!" is my preferred solution. In this case, I view the Revolutionary Four (Megatronus, Soundwave, Orion, Ratchet) as a polycule, and instabilities within the relationship are likely what lead to Megatronus losing his shit. Soundwave, Ratchet, and Orion could have formed a solid, stable polycule without him, but they all have that crazy asshole gladiator thirst.
> 
> WELP.


End file.
